Tangles
by CuteCat213
Summary: Yuri's whole life is a mess of tangles, one knot after another, and for so long he'd had to deal with them all- with everything, by himself. Now, though... it was like his whole life could be defined by pre- and post-Flynn, and he's strangely okay with that. Fluri.


From the start of the journey it's something he's done. Really, he's done it all his life, there was just no one (well, not quite...) to notice him doing it before. It's one of the first things he does after every battle (time allowing and after checking the rest of the party to make sure everyone was alright, of course). Finding a rock or log to perch upon, or even just a spot under a near-by tree, Yuri sits down to run his hands through his hair. A million snags and snarls seem to develop after every encounter, but he patiently works his way through them all, plucking at the bird's nest his hair turns into.

Rita, predictably, is the first to lose her patience and ask him why he doesn't use a brush. His response is that he doesn't have his with him, and he refuses when anyone else offers him one. None of the others understand, but then, he never really expects them to. Even passing comments, though, about how he should cut his hair if it's such a hassle are one of the very few things that set Yuri off and they're always met with a stern glare warning them to drop the subject. He'd never originally intended to let his hair grow so long, but it had become important to him.

Growing up parentless in the Lower Quarter had taught Yuri early. The whole Lower Quarter was like one big family, true... In the way extended family like aunts and uncles were family. Yuri had never had parents, or at least none that he could remember if he had: had never been someone's whole world, been that one person that somebody would do anything for. Growing up with other children who _did_ have that, he was always acutely aware of the difference.

The other boys' mothers fussed at them come summer time to get their hair cut so they'd be cool. Yuri had never had that. If he felt it was hot, he played in the water or tied his hair up. Thinking about all the things he didn't have never failed to make him depressed, and that made him angry with himself for feeling that way. He saw the way girls around the Quarter got help with their hair from their mothers, running soft-bristled brushes through growing locks; but he didn't have that, either. So when his long hair got tangled, he had no one else to go to; he found an out-of-the-way spot, sat down, and ran his fingers through the mess. Hidden from plain sight, he learned the hard way how to undo knots without pulling too hard. No one was there to help, no one was there to wipe away the tears when it hurt too much, or when it seemed too much of a job and he felt like he couldn't go on and wanted nothing more than to be rid of the whole mess. No one was there to cut it off then, like they hadn't been before.

Sometimes dipping his hands in water would help his when a knot was especially persistent, but he also learned dunking himself wasn't a good idea: moving about in water was a sure way to get his hair ever _more_ tangled. Eventually, Yuri came to accept it all. And really, the excuse of tending his hair to get away from the other kids was a welcome one. He didn't mind playing with them, but seeing them run home when their parents called, or seeing them being watched over by concerned eyes grew to be too much sometimes. ...A lot of times. But when he was working with his hair, that was his whole world and he could ignore everyone and everything else around him and focus on just himself. And when it was all straightened out, his hair made a good curtain to hide behind.

It had become so much a part of him that he hadn't noticed it -not really- because it was just his life, until one of the other boys started teasing him for having hair longer than some of the girls. It had started innocently enough with the question of who'd be the princess for the others to save, and Yuri had come up as the obvious choice for looking the girliest with his hair. He'd gotten upset, and they'd pushed him further like children did, and then they pushed him too far.

They'd shoved each other a bit, but he had been the one to throw the first punch, tackling the other boy to the ground. It wasn't _bad_, they both got pulled away by their scruffs like tussling kittens, but the difference was that Yuri was set on his feet with a scolding while the other boy ran to his mother so she could tend to his injuries. Yuri ignored his scolding and ran off, wedging himself between two buildings where he could ignore everything and work on his hair.

He tugged painfully at the snarls, and blamed his tears on the pain of doing so. He ignored the heavy scrapes and bruises that stung and throbbed because he had no one else to tend to them. No one to worry over him getting hurt. He felt hollow and sore and _hurt_- in a way that had nothing to do with his injuries. It sucked. He pulled his face from his knees, one hand on his head with the pretense of work; sniffled, and set to actually working out the snags in his dark locks, because he had no one to do that for him just because he'd had a sucky day and felt too much.

He felt better working at the task. His world had once again narrowed down to his fingers and the snarled silk he pulled them through, one knot at a time. It calmed him down; because parents and loneliness and injuries he had no gels to fix, he couldn't do anything about those and thinking about them just made him feel helpless because there was nothing he could do to change any of them. But the matted nest on his head, _that_ was something he could fix all by himself, and it was... well, if he'd been older and more versed, he'd have said it was cathartic. But it calmed him and helped him feel better. At the outset it always looked impossible- his hair tangled _so _easily, but bit by bit, as the minutes passed, it became soft and manageable as he slowly plucked at the strands and wiggled his fingers through it again and again. By the end, his hair always fell in a single silk curtain, and he felt calm and content enough to go back out and face the rest of the world again.

And then his whole world flips on its head when he meets Flynn, and suddenly dwelling on the past isn't so attractive anymore.

The first time he meets Flynn is during the middle of another scuffle, and once again he and the other boy are separated. Yuri doesn't wait around to hear the lecture or coddling, turning and stalking off. He hadn't even started the fight that time, but he was going to finish it- would have, too, if they hadn't been pulled apart. By now it's routine, and he doesn't bother to check to see if anyone watched him as he heads for his usual spot- no one ever does, anyway. So he's surprised when he looks up from working at a snarl to see bright blue eyes looking back at him. It's pure instinct that has him striking out in surprise and landing a punch on the blonde's cheek, which leads to another tussle right there in the narrow space that couldn't even be called an alley. By the end of it, he's pinned on his back and more upset than ever because _damn him_, that pretty boy with short hair has _no clue_ how long it's going to take him to fix his hair _now_ when it's at least six times as bad as it first was.

When the other finally lets him up, it's a struggle not to throw another punch just for all the extra hassle he's been caused, and screw the extra consequences because it would be _so worth it_. Instead he flops down cross-legged, pointedly facing away from the other boy and pulling forward part of his hair- and wincing when more than half of it comes over his shoulder at the motion. With a despairing sigh, he starts at the very ends and begins teasing it apart. He stiffens when he feels the tug on the back of his head, whipping around to glare at the blonde trouble-maker when he spots the apologetic smile aimed his way.

Between growled words of introduction to the newest orphan on the street, who it turns out is Flynn, and a quick argument over hair-cutting, which once upon a time would have garnered a response of 'no one cares enough' had somehow become 'it's mine and I like it this way, you got a problem with that?', Flynn decides that since it was partly (_mostly_ Yuri mentally corrects) his fault, he should help fix it. It's not like it can be made any worse.

They come to a quick understanding and Flynn gets a crash course in brushing hair which is given motivation by Yuri turning and pinching him whenever he pulls too hard. Yuri's fairly sure it's over an hour or two later when the last tangle is undone, and he's more calm than ever before. Talking with Flynn is interesting, and he wants to hear what Yuri has to say in a way no one ever has before. The feel of other fingers brushing against his scalp is also an entirely new sensation, and he knows that when Flynn tugs too hard it's an accident, because he smiles that certain way and doesn't even flinch when he gets pinched in return. It's not bad, though; Yuri's arms are usually tired after messing with his hair for so long, and by the half-way point when he drops his hands because it's just too much to deal with all at once, Flynn keeps going, keeps talking, and it's so strangely soothing- he's getting better at not pulling, too.

By the time they're actually finished, he knows everything about Flynn's parents and his life before he lost them, he's half-asleep against the blond boy's shoulder, and Flynn is playing with his now tangle-free locks. Yuri doesn't care about the other boy who'd started the fight anymore, he's more interested in the person who actually seems to care about him. Yuri makes a sudden decision as he yawns and stands up, dragging Flynn with him, and when asked where they're going, he simply replies 'home'. It's not like Flynn had anywhere else much to go back to, so Yuri pretty much on the spot adopts him- like a pet.

He doesn't even think much about it later, like when he gets dragged into the next fight, until he suddenly finds Flynn right there with him, needing no prompting or information; just assuming that Yuri's in the right- or at least taking his side unquestioningly. And when the adults come to break it up looking sterner than ever, Yuri grabs Flynn's hand and drags him off, both of them running side-by-side. And despite the trouble he's in, Yuri laughs; loud and long and care-free, like he hasn't in so long he can't remember, and even as Flynn pants beside him the blonde has a smile on his face matching Yuri's.

They get settled down far from the commotion and for the first time ever, Yuri doesn't feel angry at all, he doesn't feel bitter and resentful that he's alone and uncared for. Because even if he still has no gels or parents to tend to his injuries, he _does_ have someone who cares, someone who smiles tenderly at him, someone who without prompting starts working away at the tangles in his hair- and even swats his hand for trying to help! He looks back in confusion only to be given the admonition\explanation: 'Leave it alone. I like playing with your hair.'

Something in his chest feels warm and full and both heavy and light all at the same time. So he sits still and lets Flynn do all the work, which the blonde admits he doesn't even think of as work. He doesn't pull even once.

Flynn isn't so thrilled about his own hair, and asks one of the other kids' mothers to trim his every summer before coming up with innovative ways of keeping Yuri's off of his neck and from getting knotted up. The alligator clip he's given looks a little girly, but then, not as much as his long hair, so... And as soon as it's no longer too hot, Flynn takes a near-annoying delight in plucking the clip from his hair to let the night-hued locks spill down his back. Flynn couldn't be within arm's reach without running his fingers through Yuri's hair, and he'd have complained more if it didn't feel so good, as it is, he leans into the touch like a cat being petted. Yuri is told countless times that the way his hair swishes with his every step is mesmerizing, and that watching him move in a fight, his dark hair streaming behind him like a flag, is 'poetry in motion'. Yuri calls Flynn a romantic sap in response.

His birthday present to Flynn one year is a hairbrush to help make things easier. They're older now, he's got more hair to work through. Flynn doesn't seem to care, and the brush rarely ever gets used. Yuri never gets his hair cut, even when it reaches over half-way down his back, even when they join the knights and he gets teased about it again, even when he leaves. Even when he and Flynn are apart, he knows that they're connected every time he runs his hands through the strands and undoes the knots caused by his activities. So it's okay that the others don't understand his compulsion to tend to his hair every chance he gets.

When it's all over and done with, when it's all settled down, the whole world is a completely different place that would never be the same again. And yet, some things never change. His hair is an absolute mess, and he sits down in front of Flynn without a word. Smiling softly, the blonde's fingers start working away at it bit by bit, softly whispered words tickling the back of his neck or one of his ears as Flynn so easily lets time and the world around them slip away and speaks of small things. It's just the two of them now, and Yuri's hands slip up to help comb, his fingers brushing against Flynn's more often than not; he doesn't get swatted for it this time.

In the calm, quiet, still moment, with nobody but them, so close that Yuri can feel Flynn's breath as they shamelessly indulge in the closeness of the moment, he knows that he'll never cut his hair, no matter how much effort it becomes.

Yuri had never had his hair cut, he never will. At first, it was because he couldn't do it on his own, and no one else cared enough to do it for him. Then it was because it was one of the few areas of his life that Yuri had complete control over. But now... now his hair is his treasure: it helped him meet Flynn, and it brought him these countless timeless, intimate moments with just the two of them, where the world narrows down to his hair... and the one running his fingers so carefully and reverently through it.


End file.
